


On Love: Agape

by Kima



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Letters, M/M, Oblivious Yuri, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 20:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8861521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kima/pseuds/Kima
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky doesn't have friends and he doesn't need them. Not until Otabek Altin shows up in his life. Things start to change and Yuri is not quite sure if he likes it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "Write about what you know", they say. And well, I was born in Ukraine and imagine to know at least a bit about Russian culture so naturally, I wrote about smol angry Russian son and his stoic boyfriend from Kazakhstan.  
> Fair warning: Yuri swears. A lot. I imagine him growing up in Moscow and trust me, Russian people fucking swear A LOT. There's a whole sub-language, consisting entirely of profanity. And judging by Yuri's rage issues, he seems like the type of person who would swear a lot. All the profanity used comes DIRECTLY from my own mother (who sometimes forgets herself when she's angry and that my dad actually doesn't want us to know any of those words).  
> Translations of the Russian words/expressions at the end.

Yuri Plisetsky has no need for friends, never did. At least, that’s what he’s told himself since childhood; with an alcoholic mother and absent father you learn not to rely on other people, not to trust them. Except for Grandpa Plisetsky, of course. _Dedushka_ has always been there for him, feeding him, taking care of him, watching him skate. Yuri doesn’t need anyone else.

Yakov is not a parent and never will be. Yakov is his coach and, no matter how much Yuri might bitch, actually a good one. But Yakov is no parent, doesn’t know how to care and Yuri actually doesn’t want him to; he has _Dedushka_ , it’s enough for him. Lilia is many things – but definitely no parent and even less of a friend. He knows, logically, that those two care about him in their own way and that he needs them to be a professional ice skater. But he only needs them in a professional way; they are neither his parents nor his friends and he doesn’t _need_ them. Not like he needs _Dedushka_.

Mila and Georgi are rivals, fellow skaters. They tease him and act like they’re his older siblings but truth is, they’re not. And Yuri might sort of, in a weird way, appreciate their concern but… he also doesn’t need them. He’s used to them, used to the teasing and friendly rivalry, but they’re not friends. He doesn’t have friends. He has his cat, Myshka, and his grandfather. That’s all he needs.

Things start changing when Viktor Nikiforov suddenly decides to drop skating and flies across half the world to train some fat Japanese skater who happens to have the same name as Yuri. Obviously, Yuri follows him to Japan because Yuri is nothing if not stubborn; this is about his career, his senior debut and also, ridiculously, his name that Japanese Yuuri dares to share (he knows, logically, that the last point is not Yuuri’s fault but he doesn’t really care, to be onest). Yuri isn’t sure what exactly changes but somehow, he starts caring.

He cares about the stupid Katsukis and their onsen, he cares about stupid Yuuko and the stupid triples, cares about stupid Yuuri and his stupid moon-eyes for Viktor. He cares and he hates it so he goes back to Russia and stubbornly, viciously, throws himself into training.

Yuri Plisetsky has no need for friends, never has, and he certainly won’t start needing them now.

 

* * *

 

 

Cuddled up with a stuffed toy resembling Myshka, Yuri grunts as he scrolls through instagram. He’s bored and grumpy, as he usually is these days, but he also doesn’t want to go outside; that’s where all the crazy people – namely his fans – are. Those and the reporters and paparazzi and ugh, he just wants to go home and eat _Dedushka_ ’s pirozhki. But first, he has to win the Grand Prix and he’s determined to do that because he wants his grandpa to be proud. That’s all Yuri has ever wanted.

Thinking of his grandfather’s pirozhki, he grunts again. Great, now he’s hungry. Except he’s in Barcelona and he’s pretty sure there are no pirozhki here anywhere so it’s either something Spanish or… burgers. Yuri grumbles. He could order room service, of course. But that would mean interacting with people. Yuri hates people. So he huffs and grumbles and lets go of his stuffed toy, gets dressed and slinks out of his hotel room, trying to sneak away from both the security, his coach and his crazy-ass fans.

Two of those, he does escape. The third however is nothing if not persistent and if it weren’t so goddamn annoying, maybe Yuri would actually be impressed with how stubborn his fans are. As it is, however, they frankly scare him and of course, of course they sniff him out and follow him around and _blyat_ , he just wanted to get some food.

“ _Yob tvoyu mat,_ ” he curses heartily, knowing full well that his grandfather would give him a very unimpressed and stern look for the use of foul language. He can hear his crazy fangirls getting closer and closer and then, out of nowhere, fucking Otabek Altin arrives on his bike like a literal white knight. The rival skater with the resting bitch face (even worse than Yuri’s own) spirits him away across the city, away from the scary fangirls and Yuri is so overwhelmed that he just. Goes with it. He’s never been rescued by anyone before – not when everyone teased him back he started skating (too small, they said, too fragile – until he broke another kid’s nose with his supposedly tiny and fragile fist), not when his mother first started drinking (he was the one to tell his grandfather and to ask him to take him in). Yuri is used to saving himself, taking care of himself. He might be only 15 but that’s what he’s been doing his whole life.

But with Otabek, he somehow doesn’t mind.

Maybe it’s Otabek’s quiet confession about being impressed with Yuri’s ‘soldier eyes’. Maybe it’s Otabek’s straight face when he asks if Yuri will be his friend. Or maybe it’s because secretly, deep down, Yuri actually always wanted to be rescued by someone. And if that someone happens to be a handsome skater from Kazakhstan, well, then that’s how it is.

He doesn’t need friends, not really.

But maybe, just this once, he _wants_ a friend.

 

* * *

 

“Your name is stupid,” Yuri grumbles over the glass of orange juice. “It’s too long.”

“Call me Beka,” Otabek suggests, his eyes warm even though his face is still straight and sort of expressionless. “Everyone does back home.”

“Beka, then,” Yuri nods, trying out the nickname and smiling despite himself. It rolls off his tongue much smoother than the slightly foreign Kazakh name. They might both speak Russian but there are still differences, like Otabek’s slightly more lilting speech patterns and his accent or Yuri’s mixed-in profanity (which is a lot more common in Moscow than it is out in rural Kazakhstan). Otabek takes a sip of his water and cocks his head a bit.

“You have a nickname, too?” he asks in that weirdly calm voice of his that still somehow manages to betray curiosity. Yuri’s answer is a grunt. _Dedushka_ calls him Yuratchka but Yuratchka is a small, scrawny kid who’s being teased for being the youngest kid on the rink. Everybody else calls him Yuri because he _will_ throw a fit if anybody dares get too familiar with him. He doesn’t have friends.

“… Yura,” he mumbles eventually, not looking at Otabek. “Call me Yura.”

“Yura. Good.” Yuri looks up at Otabek who’s – smiling. He’s smiling and Yuri catches himself smiling too while his chest feels with this weird, unfamiliar warmth that he usually only gets when Myshka jumps on his bed and demands belly rubs and he buries his nose in the silly cat’s fur. He can feel himself blushing and clears his throat, taking another sip of his juice. Otabek continues watching him with those warm, piercing gaze and Yuri… Yuri takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits. “Friends, I mean. I don’t have them. I don’t know what to do with them.” He doesn’t know why he’s so honest about it. It’s not something he usually tells people. But then, he usually stays away from people.

“Then we’ll learn together,” Otabek returns. “I don’t have friends either.” The _besides you_ is unspoken but shared between them. Yuri blinks. Somehow, he’s not surprised. He chews on his lip for a moment, uncomfortable, and then says,

“Tell me about your home rink.” Skating is a safe topic, he figures. It’s what both of them knows. Otabek smiles this small, barely there smile and starts talking about growing up in Kazakhstan. Yuri listens and tells Otabek about growing up in Moscow and before he actually knows what’s happening, they’re both laughing about how five year old Yuri beat up a kid two heads taller and about how seven year old Otabek snuck away to train in the middle of the night and ended up accidentally scaring his mother half to death when she discovered his empty bed.

Yuri can’t remember when he last laughed with another person. Actually, honestly laughed. _Dedushka_ doesn’t laugh a lot, never has. And Yuri, being the stubborn ass he is, also doesn’t laugh much. But Otabek makes it so easy, for some reason – his deadpan way of telling a story, the slight lift of his eyebrows whenever Yuri says something mildly (or not so mildly) offensive and his quiet snort of laughter that makes the paella on his spoon scatter all across their table, it all has Yuri laughing so hard that there are actually tears in his eyes. Otabek joins in in this quiet way of his and Yuri feels the unfamiliar warmth bloom through his entire body.

He doesn’t want this afternoon to end.

But the afternoon bleeds into evening and suddenly, Yuri is sitting at one table with all his rivals minus the annoying asshole from Canada and two sobbing Japanese women. His dinner with Otabek is certainly over though both of them are still here because as usual, Viktor and Japanese Yuuri somehow manage to make it all about them. Phichit yells about marriage, Chris gets excited and Otabek applauds with his usual straight bitch face and Yuri… Yuri just wants them all gone. He wants to go back to his nice and quiet dinner with Otabek. His friend.

Of course, that’s when motherfucking JJ decides to show up with his obnoxious fiancée and everyone files out because literally no one wants to spend time with the obnoxious asshole. Yuri might be the first one to get to his feet, Otabek right behind him.

They say goodbye to the others who quickly disappear off into different directions – lovebirds Viktor and Yuuri with their damn matching gold rings making mooneyes at each other, Phichit and Chris heatedly comparing their instagram follower counts and Minako and Mari still sobbing and yelling in Japanese. Yuri watches all of them go and wonders, for a second, if he should go back to the hotel now, when something is thrust into his arms.

He blinks down at the helmet in mild confusion and looks up at Otabek who is already calmly straddling his bike again.

“There are none of my fans here,” he says dumbly. Otabek looks at him and lifts an eyebrow.

“What, you want to stay here with JJ?”

“ _Yobaniy kozel_ ,” Yuri heartily swears and rolls his eyes. No, he most certainly does not want to stay with JJ. Otabek snorts a laugh and puts on his own helmet.

“Exactly,” he nods. “Now get on the bike.”

Is this what friends do?, Yuri wonders. Drive around together? Insult people they don’t like together? Save each other from their scary fans?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know but he’s willing to learn, so he shrugs and puts on the helmet Otabek gave him and climbs onto the bike behind his new friend who waits until Yuri is properly seated and holding on to him before revving the engine and driving off.

The cool night wind hits Yuri straight in the face and he huffs, hiding his nose against Otabek’s broad back, thinking how this is the most contact he ever had with another person. It’s new and weird but not bad, not uncomfortable.

He should be cold. He’s always been thin and fragile and easily cold but… not today. Not tonight. Tonight, Yuri is warm and feels weirdly safe and happy, for the first time in a long time. Not the kind of happiness that succeeding on the ice brings him but the kind of happiness that eating _Dedushka_ ’s pirozhki brings, the kind of happiness that cuddling Myshka is. Yuri doesn’t quite know how to handle it.

But he’s willing to learn.

Otabek doesn’t drive back to the hotel. Instead, he drives around nightly Barcelona, past sightseeing landmarks and people and streets and Christmas markets and Yuri doesn’t want it to end, once again. Even though they don’t talk and just drive around the city, he’s comfortable in a way he never has been with other people. He wonders what it is about Otabek and doesn’t come up with an answer.

When Otabek finally stops at the hotel they’re all staying in, Yuri’s hands might be a bit freezing from the cold but his chest feels warm and bubbly, his knees kinda wobbly as he gets off the bike with Otabek’s help.

“That was fun,” Otabek says with a small smile as he takes off his helmet. Yuri fumbles with the straps of his own helmet and hums. It definitely was, yes. He still doesn’t understand it. But it was fun.

“Let’s do it again after the Final,” he suggests without thinking and gets rewarded with a smile. He feels another blush creep in but stubbornly holds Otabek’s warm gaze.

“That would be nice, Yura,” Otabek replies and Yuri… Yuri smiles in response.

 

* * *

 

 

“Beka!!” He nearly trips down the stairs trying to get to the kiss and cry, only regaining his composure before stumbling right into Otabek who looks tired but happy (underneath his usual bitch face, that is). “That was awesome!”

Otabek, clearly surprised to see him, smiles.

“Yura. You liked it?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?” Yuri huffs but can’t stop grinning. “You kicked JJ’s fucking ass. Serves him right, that asshole.” Otabek grins at him and elbows him. Yuri elbows him right back and there’s this weird warmth in his chest again and despite the cold at the rink, he’s not freezing.

Neither of them wins gold. But Otabek gets bronze and Yuri gets silver and even though goddamn Yuuri gets gold, Yuri can’t really be upset about it. He would have been, before Spain. Before Otabek. But now, seeing his friend succeed right next to him, only a few points apart, Yuri is nearly bursting with pride and after all, there’s still next year, right?

He cannot believe he actually thinks this but… looking at Otabek’s small smile, proudly holding his bronze medal for the photographers to see, Yuri can’t bring himself to be disappointed with his own silver medal. Not when his first friend is so happy to have won bronze for his home country, not when Otabek actually throws an arm around Yuri’s shoulders for Phichit’s stupid after-competition banquet selfie. So Yuri wraps an arm around Otabek’s waist somewhat awkwardly and sticks his tongue out at the camera.

He ends up downloading the photo from Phichit’s instagram and setting it as his new phone background. All in all, he’s had a lot of fun.

“So, Yura. Where to?” Otabek asks the next day, both of them still slightly tired from the late night at the banquet (no dance-offs, this time, but another pole dance performance from Chris and Yuri kind of wants to bleach his brain because he’s not sure he can handle two subsequent years of Christophe Giacometti pole dancing). It’s early in the morning and their planes don’t leave until late afternoon, so this is the last opportunity to actually drive around together before going their separate ways for now. Yuri is already packed and left all his luggage with Yakov and Lilia who have grudgingly agreed to let him have the day off. He yawns and puts on the helmet, shrugging noncommittally.

“Dunno. We could just drive around? That was fun.” Otabek looks at him, dark eyes impossible warm.

“Yes. It was.”

They spend the day driving around Barcelona, eating both breakfast and lunch at different food stands throughout the city, and when it’s time to get to their planes, Yuri is actually sad that their day together is ending.

“Hey, Yura,” Otabek says while Yuri is fumbling with his helmet in front of Barcelona-El Prat Airport. “Here.” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and produces a folded piece of paper. Yuri blinks and tucks the helmet away under his right arm, taking the paper with his left hand, curiously unfolding it. On it, in surprisingly clean, straight letters, is an address.

“What…?”

“Write me,” Otabek says. “It’s still months before the next competition. That way, we can stay in contact.” Yuri opens his mouth and closes it again, staring at the piece of paper in his hand somewhat dumbly. Aware that he’s looking like a beached fish, he closes it audibly and huffs.

“ _Bolvan_ ,” he grumbles. “There’s such a thing as emails nowadays.”

“I know,” Otabek replies with a grin. “But I like letters.”

And what can Yuri say to that, honestly? So he smiles and folds the paper again, puts it into the back pocket of his jeans and nods.

“I’ll write, then,” he promises. They stand around looking at each other for a moment and Yuri opens his mouth to say something but before he can actually think of something to say that isn’t as lame as “well, see you”, Yakov yells his name from where he’s getting out of the taxi with Lilia. Yuri starts and looks back at his coaches with a glare, disgruntled to have been interrupted.

He doesn’t want to go, he realizes with a start.

“Leave me alone!” he yells back at Yakov who rolls his eyes and yells back at him to hurry the hell up. Otabek chuckles quietly at their exchange but doesn’t say anything.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t really want to say goodbye either.

Yuri looks at him, feeling weird and sad and grumpy, and huffs as he reaches out to hug Otabek, hard.

“You better write back,” he grumbles into the crook of Otabek’s neck. “I mean it.”

“Of course,” Otabek replies easily, arms comfortably wrapping around Yuri’s lithe frame. Yuri closes his eyes for a second, enjoying the hug more than he probably should, before abruptly letting go and taking a step back, his face glowing the same bright red as the beets _Dedushka_ uses for his borsht. And Otabek, the damn ass, just smiles his small smile despite the prominent red on the tips of his ears.

It’s a bit too much for Yuri and he’s already turning, three steps away into the direction Yakov and Lilia are both waiting impatiently, when he stops again, chewing on his lower lip.

“Beka,” he calls then, turning to his friend who is still sitting on the bike, watching him go. Otabek nods at him, signaling that he’s listening. Yuri huffs and yells, much louder than probably necessary,

“ _Do svidaniya_!” Otabek blinks, taken off guard by the sudden change in volume. But then he smiles and nods and replies,

“ _Do svidaniya_ , Yura.”

 

* * *

 

**Beka,**

**For the record, letters are still stupid. It’s 2016. No, it’s actually 2017 already. It’s New Year’s and _Ded_ is asleep already but Alla Pugacheva is on TV and it makes Myshka all crazy. Why is that old crone still allowed to perform in those short dresses? I think I might puke.**

**I told _Ded_ about you and he said you’re welcome to come during the summer holidays. If you want. Moscow sucks in summer but _Ded_ makes the best okroshka, you should definitely try it one day. If you come, I can also show you my home rink. People there are stupid but maybe it won’t suck so much if you’re there.**

**Anyway, Pugacheva stopped singing at last, so I’ll go calm Myshka down.**

**Happy new year.**

**Yura**

 

* * *

 

 

**Yura,**

**Thank you for your letter. I was very happy to receive it. I’ll gladly come and try your grandpa’s okroshka, maybe he can teach me the recipe?**

**I saw Pugacheva’s performance for New Year’s and yes, I agree. She shouldn’t wear these dresses anymore but I do like her voice. My mother listens to her often. I was thinking of maybe skating to one of her songs, someday.**

**You’ve told me a lot about Myshka but somehow, you never showed me a photo of him. Anyway, I’m enclosing a cat toy for him, maybe he’ll appreciate it whenever Pugacheva is on TV again.**

**I hope you’re well.**

**Beka**

* * *

 

 

**Beka,**

**I’m back to training again. Lilia has this ridiculous new routine thought out and ugh, I hate ballet so much sometimes? I can’t believe I agreed to let that hag train me, she’s even worse than Yakov. But I guess I’m doing better since she started, so yeah.**

**Myshka loves your dumb toy, by the way. He won’t stop playing with it and at this rate, it’s not gonna survive until your next letter. Also don’t lie, I totally showed you photos of him! Half my instagram is full of him. But okay, I’ve enclosed a photo of Myshka and me from the New Year’s party, that’s _Dedushka_ sleeping in the background. Don’t lose it, I’ve only got the one physical copy.**

**How’s your training going? I’ll definitely beat you again this year, you know. So train hard!**

**Yura**

 

* * *

 

 

**Yura,**

**I hope this letter reaches you in time for your birthday. Well, the letter and the parcel both. I didn’t know what to get you so I hope you will like the stuffed bear anyway. The drawing was made by my little sister, by the way. She’s a great fan of yours and got very excited when I told her about your birthday coming up.**

**Training has been going well. How is your ankle doing? It sounded pretty bad in your last letter. Will you be back to training in time? Remember, competition season is coming up and you don’t want to lose to me, do you?**

**Say hello to your grandpa and Myshka!**

**Beka**

* * *

 

 

**Beka,**

**_Dedushka_ ** **said to thank your mother for the honey you sent last time, he loves it with his tea. I’m sending some more of his cholodez since your father seemed to like it so much.**

**Also, I can’t believe you continued skating with a concussion. Are you crazy? At this rate, we won’t be able to compete against each other! You’re the only person who’s as good as me, don’t let me on my own with fucking JJ this year! You know I’ll kill him if I’m on my own. And don’t you dare compare that to my sprained ankle from April, it’s totally not the same thing.**

**Say hello to your family.**

**Take care, idiot.**

**Yura**

* * *

 

 

**Yura,**

**We’ll see each other again soon! I’m looking forward to it, still sad about not being able to visit back in summer. Inkar is excited too, our parents allowed her to come along to Moscow this year. Seems like we’ll get that family meeting after all, huh? Even if it is a few months late.**

**No bike this time, sadly. But my parents liked the idea of you showing us around Moscow, so I hope that offer still stands? And we might get a better router this winter, so maybe Skype calls will be possible soon.**

**Can’t wait for next week. Knowing the post system, this letter won’t arrive before me but still.**

**Beka**

* * *

 

 

That year, Otabek takes silver and Yuri leaves the Grand Prix with gold.

They continue to write during off-season, even though the Altins get a better internet connection so they can Skype on the weekends. Yuri spends two weeks in Kazakhstan and Otabek comes to Moscow for Yuri’s 17th birthday.

Friendship is weird, Yuri decides sometime during the preliminaries 2018. He’s still himself and Otabek is still Otabek but somehow, along the line, they also become _Yuri and Otabek_. Friendship is feeling warm when he sees Otabek in the hotel lobby, friendship is the tingling feeling when Otabek hugs him, the blush high on his cheeks when Otabek helps him catch all of his hair in a ponytail in the dressing room before a competition. Friendship is the fond looks Otabek gives him, the small smiles when Yuri is falling asleep on Otabek’s shoulder, the stuffed toy Otabek gets him every year to join the small army of stuffed toys on Yuri’s bed.

Or is it?

Around the time his 18th birthday rolls around though, Yuri isn’t so sure anymore. He watches the other skaters, watches Mila and Georgi and… maybe it isn’t friendship, this warm thing between them. Maybe it’s something more, something deeper but just as warm and important and utterly good.

Except that maybe scares Yuri a lot more than friendship ever did.

“You’re acting weird, Yura,” Otabek observes the evening before the Grand Prix Final 2019. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Yuri answers immediately, turning away from his friend, stubbornly staring down at his phone. He’s 27 weeks deep into his instagram feed by now.

“… Yura.” Otabek’s voice is quiet but stern. “Talk to me.” A part of Yuri – the one from before Otabek – wants to lash out, to yell, to ask why he should tell Otabek anything. But another part – the one from after Otabek and far bigger because well, it’s Otabek who asked – grabs the small, angry part by the collar and drags him away so he can answer.

“We’re not friends,” he declares. He doesn’t look at Otabek but can feel his questioning gaze. Silence stretches out between them and Yuri is uncomfortable for the first time since they started talking. He desperately wants to get away, suddenly, away from Otabek and his questions and his dark eyes that seem to stare right into Yuri’s soul.

“We’re not?” If Otabek is hurt, he doesn’t show it.

“This… it’s not friendship,” Yuri grumbles. “It’s weird. You keep… And I’m… _Blyat_!” He hates words. Has never been good with them. Yuri prefers actions to words and more often than not, his actions are aggressive and loud and so, so much easier than goddamn talking.

And Otabek? Otabek waits. Waits with his unending patience and his quiet presence and Yuri – he just explodes.

“You make me feel weird!” he yells, unable to help himself. “All of this… I don’t know how to do this, okay? You’re the first person I ever cared about and this friendship thing, it’s not working out! We can’t be friends if I’m… feeling these things!”

Otabek blinks at him. And stays silent. Yuri’s chest is heaving with anger and helplessness and the blood is rushing in his ears and he wants Otabek to yell back at him but of course, Otabek doesn’t. He never yells.

Instead, the infuriating idiot just smiles his small smile that’s reserved for Yuri alone and replies,

“Yura. I thought you knew. Everybody else knew.”

“Knew _what_?!” Yuri demands, still angry and loud and upset and overwhelmed by that stupid warm feeling that blooms in his chest at the sight of Otabek’s smile.

“ _Bolvan_ ,” Otabek says, voice stupidly fond, before leaning over and pressing his lips against Yuri’s.

Yuri’s brain short-circuits. He freezes and just dumbly stares as Otabek leans back again and looks at him.

“I,” Yuri starts with no actual idea what to say. He’s still staring at his friend, speechless and confused. Otabek shakes his head a little and takes one of Yuri’s hands.

“You weren’t ready,” he explains. “So I waited for you.”

“But. But we’re friends,” Yuri says. Otabek smiles.

“Yes, we are. But I also fell in love with the eyes of a soldier. And you wait for soldiers to return from war.” Yuri stares and stares and then, heartily, declares,

“ _Durak_!” He lunges at Otabek and kisses him, somewhat clumsy and hard but definitely with enthusiasm. And Otabek, the stupid, charming idiot, just laughs quietly against Yuri’s lips and hugs him, kissing him back.

 

* * *

 

Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t need friends, never did. Except the one – and if that one friend happens to also be his lover and boyfriend, well. That’s nobody’s business but his own, despite the teasing from Viktor and Japanese Yuuri during their wedding when he shows up with Otabek as his plus one. Yuri grumbles and huffs at the stupid lovebirds even as he congratulates them and flips Phichit the bird when he tries to take a photo but he doesn’t let go of Otabek’s hand, not once.

And maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches Chris dance enthusiastically with both Viktor and Yuuri while Phichit and Mila twirl Guang Hong and Leo around and Minako gets horribly drunk with Celestino, maybe he actually has friends. He doesn’t need them, not really. But they’re there and so is his boyfriend and Yuri Plisetsky quietly smiles to himself as Otabek drags him toward the dance floor.

It’s not so bad, he decides, to have friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedushka - grandpa  
> Myshka - little bear  
> Blyat - fuck  
> Yob tvoyu mat - fuck your mother  
> Yobaniy kozel - fucking ass  
> Bolvan - idiot  
> Do svidaniya - goodbye  
> Ded - short form of Dedushka, basically Gramps  
> Alla Pugacheva - a Russian singer  
> Okroshka - a cold, Russian summer soup  
> Durak - idiot


End file.
